


Too Attached

by littleredwritinghood13



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Pining, Smut, Unplanned Pregnancy, mention of masturbation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-09-29 11:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleredwritinghood13/pseuds/littleredwritinghood13
Summary: After the crumble of your friends-with-benefits relationship with Bucky Barnes,  oh baby, are you left to deal with the consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

It started a six months earlier. The result of some teasing of you and your virginal status.

Game night at the Avengers Compound wasn’t exactly Monopoly and Trouble. It was Cards Against Humanity and the intrusive sort of Truth or Dare.

You, being the most quiet and unassuming of the bunch, were wary of these games. At the time, you were virginal in just about every physical sense of the word; never dated, never had sex, never even been kissed. You didn’t know how to put yourself out there intimately. You were insecure in your soft, pudgy skin. Not that anyone really noticed.

Everyone else thought you were sunshine and rainbows, a sweet addition to the Avengers who exuded confidence and kindness. Half of that was true. Well, maybe a quarter. Because half the time you couldn’t find the strength to be kind to yourself.

That night, pretty early on, you were already drunk. You were a lightweight, it didn’t take much for you to revert to your drunken giggly self. Who also seemed to become pretty clingy, as you’d found Bucky’s shoulder to be an incredibly comfortable headrest. He hadn’t seemed to mind, wrapping his left arm around your shoulder. You’d reveled in the sound of the metal setting and resetting.

It had been Tony who asked, even caught you off guard.

“Alright, Boozy.” The usual preface: "Truth or Dare?“

"Truth,” you’d half-hiccuped.

Bucky had chuckled beside you, pushing some of the hair from your face that had fallen in front of your eyes. You’d smiled so hard at him you almost missed the question.

“What’s your body count?”

You’d scoffed, “I’ve never killed anyone!”

Tony’s smiled had been dripping in smugness and amusement. Bucky’s shoulder tensed beneath your cheek. You weren’t sure looking back on it if you’d realized why.

“No, not that body count.”

You should’ve understood the question at first, Tony’s suggestive eyebrow raise was just that, but your drunken brain wasn’t picking up on social cues very well. And in a room full of Avengers, even a sober person could’ve made your mistake.

Not that that mattered to Bucky. He’d tensed considerably, sending a glance to Steve that you could only describe as protective. That didn’t sit well with you.

Even in a drunken stupor, you weren’t about to be treated like some little innocent doll. You had some insecurities, especially when it came to sex, but that didn’t mean you didn’t want it.

That the desire wasn’t present because it was.

Some days it was unbearable, only satiated with your fingers or the little blue toy you kept hidden in your sock drawer.

“Tony, come on. Leave her alone,” Steve piped up.

You didn’t care, or had at least made a concerted effort not to care. Maybe it was the booze that had given you some uncharacteristic brashness, but you answered promptly: “Zero.”

You could still feel the unsettling knowledge that almost ten heads turned in your direction.

Bucky asked, “Wait, what?”

You’d shrugged. Your shame wasn’t with being a virgin, per sé. More with yourself; you had the urges, the fantasies, even then, but you’d felt like your body was betraying you.

You didn’t look the way the other women did in the Compound, and your tried daily to not care, but in your mind it was a roadblock to the whole sex thing. You were pudgy and stout, while almost all the other women were tall and lithe, with heart shaped faced and jewel-toned eyes.

Even now, months later, those feelings remained.

“I’ve never slept with anyone. I spent my early twenties focused on school. I wasn’t one of those people who welcomed distraction, so I never really found a guy to do the deed with.”

It had been an easy admission, but one that still earned confused glances and furrowed brows. You’d stood, beginning one of your more infamous explanations.

“Listen, my vagina isn’t exactly open for business. I mean, it’s there but it hasn’t had any takers. It’s that cute little store in the corner of the shopping center nestled between a couple of prettier and more frequented, more experienced stores. Not exactly a place most guys would spend their time until they know it better. Not that they’ll take the time to get to know it better because they want to get into a store right this minute! Time is of the essence!”

Sam had snorted at your emphatic monologue, Bucky was strangely silent.

“Sure, people have walked by, talked about going in, but then you find out that they haven’t exactly had respect for other establishments in the past and you don’t really want to open your doors for someone who isn’t going to respect the place.”

“And, those are usually the same guys who don’t want the ‘responsibility’ of being a store’s first customer. 'I don’t want to hurt the store! What if I never shop there again after this one time?’ But really, they’re just afraid that the store will want them to step into a lifetime membership!”

“And sure, you’ve turned the doorknob yourself more than a few times but you can’t exactly imagine someone else turning it quite right or at least well enough for you to…ya know, make that big sale.”

Everyone had bursted out laughing as you sat back down, proud that you’d made them all laugh. It had felt good to be honest, even if you still hadn’t been sure everyone understood.

Especially when Tony and Sam had expressed their assumptions that you were repressed or stressed and maybe finding a guy on Tinder could prepare you to cope with the fast-approaching stresses of the real world.

You had tried not to pay them any mind. But if they hadn’t said anything, would you be where you are today?

“That was such an involved metaphor.” Bucky wasn’t really a man of many words back then.

Still wasn’t, and it was something you dwelled upon as you took a seat in the waiting room, well into the After.

It had been only days after that night, back in the Before, that you had come to a decision. A plan had formed unexpectedly for you and you just had to bring together the pieces for it to come to fruition.

“Have sex with me.”

It wasn’t a question, but maybe it should have been. You stood in Bucky’s bedroom door, letting the statement hang in the air, studying his face for a reaction.

He didn’t disappoint: his eyes widened, jaw went slack, and…was the great womanizer Bucky Barnes blushing? Normally, you would comment on it, but you were still reeling from Sam and Tony’s words at the party.

“Who cares what Pigeon thinks? Or Stark! Come on, doll. You don’t need to not be a virgin to sink or swim in the real world.”

“Bucky, I graduate soon. I will be out in the real world. I am still sheltered in so many ways, I can’t be in this one out in the real world. It’s unrealistic!”

Bucky rolled his eyes. You’d smiled; annoyance wasn’t a look you commonly saw from him. Stark, yes. Pigeon, you bet your ass. But never you.

Before, at least.

“Want the truth?” This admission came harder than all the others. “I want to. I have for a while, but no one…I wouldn’t trust anyone else. No one but you.”

There had been hesitation. You’d seen it in him, even if he had been trying to hide it. It should have been a red flag, shouldn’t it?

“Okay. But, we take it slower. Go from the minor stuff to the major. We only take a step when you’re ready to. Agreed?”

It had started slow after that.

Long, heated makeout sessions, some groping, occasional grinding. Bucky had wanted to give you a choice; a chance to back out before you moved farther than you’d liked. Such a gentleman back. Probably still was; not that would know.

You didn’t want to miss him as you idly played with the strap of your purse, daytime television chirping from a mounted screen and phones ringing off the hook from the help desk.

You’d set rules in the Before. Rules that were based in friendship and trust. Rules that were founded largely in the context of your magnum opus monologue and outlined to be a casual situations. No feelings; just trust and sex.

Your first time with Bucky, first time ever, had been nothing like what your were expecting.

It was something you would’ve conjured for one of your stories; your heroine in the arms of her lover, breathless and panting, little dress pushed up past her hips, grasping at his shoulders and gasping as his hips dipped against hers, reveling in the feeling of him pressed up against her.

Only this was real and it had all felt the way you did when you would conjure it in your head…times ten. You’d expected pain, awkwardness, a lack of satisfaction.

But, he had kissed you deep; you’d die with that impression still on your lips.

He made sure you were every ounce of breathless and panting, kissing every open inch of skin, hands finding your hips beneath her cotton frock, fingers dancing over the band of your panties. Your hips had arched of their own accord, pressing against him. You’d always remember rubbing up against him for the first time, only able to think: Shit, he’s hard.

You’d both made quick work of your summertime garb, tugging off the loose fitting clothes in record time, ending up naked and in your bed, taking a step you’d been waiting and waiting for.

He’d been a champion at foreplay the entirety of your relationship. . .if you could call it that. He’d made sure you had climaxed twice before even trying to push himself inside you. He was so kind to you, so caring. Even that early on, you felt as if you were loved.

Clutching your sweater to your body now, you shut your eyes at the memory.

It was always meant to stay good.

You could still remember how it felt when he entered you. How you’d gasped embarrassingly at first, only to end up moaning into his mouth softly as he gave you time to adjust, hand tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. He had chuckled; the bastard thought he was so funny.

He made it his mission for you to climax properly; he wasn’t exactly derelict in that duty. He was steady, through. Made note of what had you gasping, whimpering, and outright moaning. He was always smart, but when it came to sex, he was a goddamn genius. He had you crying out his name in minutes, finishing not long after you.

Sleep had befallen you easily after that. Your first time had exhausted you, to say the least.

Every time after wasn’t much different.

Six months time and majority of it was spent with Bucky Barnes, in various places (and positions) around the Compound. You had been insatiable then. You were finally edging your frustrations, exploring what you liked.

It was empowering, freeing, and slowly but surely, damning.

Because you couldn’t remember when it started, but you found yourself seeking Bucky out for things other than sex. Movie nights, training sessions, a general partner in crime. You’d always been friends, so it wasn’t that odd, but when paired with a lack of dating it surely felt odd.

You hadn’t dated then, still didn’t know how to put yourself out there. Still don’t.

That should’ve made you realize you were on the highway to heartbreak.

Because when he’d bought you a silver heart necklace for your birthday, you thought your heart would burst.

Because with each time you and Bucky fell into bed or up against a wall or in the shower…a switch was flipped and you couldn’t turn it off. He had you wrapped around his little finger and he didn’t even know it.

You hadn’t meant to throw down a gauntlet, but it was suddenly glaring up at you every time you looked at him.

The last time had been in the Before, but subsequently began the After.

It had been immediately following a near-death experience, and it still didn’t surprise you that you two had ended up in your bed, looking back on it month later.

You had been ten feet tall and bulletproof as you wrapped your legs at his hips, clutching at his shoulders and urging him to go faster. He’d obliged and the air grew thick, almost stifling. You had felt dizzy, out of control. You were a gasping, moaning mess. Who could really control what they say in that moment? Especially when they’re in bed with the person they love, who doesn’t know they love them yet?

It was too good. He had felt good. Too goddamn good.

You never wanted to be that cliched girl; the one who gets attached, who falls in love in a casual relationship. And yet…

“Oh, god!” It was a cliche, but like all cliches, it was the truth. “I love you!”

_“Y/N L/N!”_

Your eyes darted up at your name. Your eyes burned a little. Going over your mistakes in your head was never a good idea.

Falling in love with your best-friend-with-benefits had proven to be even worse.

He had stuttered after you said it; in his movement and his words. You would have thought you burned him with what you said with how quickly he had retreated from your touch.

You had tried so hard to explain it away, to take it back, but that damn 'I love you’ gaunlet was a stubborn one. The way he’d looked at you: shocked, probably disgusted. You would never be able to forget it.

He’d dressed quickly and sprinted from your bedroom, not saying a word. All you could do was pull your sheets close and cry.

Not long after that, he got called on a two week mission. Maybe it was his choice. Maybe it had been for the best. It had been the longest two weeks of your life, but who was counting? You.

Looking back, you should’ve reveled in that reprieve.

The nurse led you into an exam room, urging you to put on a gown and wait.

She didn’t know that you and the waiting game weren’t exactly copacetic.

It had been the waiting game you’d played before you went to visit him the night after he got back. You wanted to give him space. You’d given the time, Lord knows those two weeks were torturous, but you wanted to give him space too; to be home, before you came to see if you could salvage your friendship.

Even if all you had wanted back then was more.

Your knock on his door could have only been described as feather-light, but he was there in moments anyway.

Panting, half-naked and sporting a hickey.

You didn’t have to look past him to see the blonde in his bed, because she made herself known with a nasally, “Jamie, come back to bed!”

The tears burned. They didn’t fall, they just overwhelmed your eyes, soaking your waterline and scorching your lids. A sob had curled silently in your throat, some days you still felt it, but you had stamped it down. It had taken so much of you to do so, but you managed.

There was shock and anger, bitter on your tongue, but there weren’t words. Nothing to break the silence that fell as Bucky’s breathing evened out and something flickered behind his eyes. A recognition, but not regret.

Heartbreak doesn’t have a sound. You knew that now.

Someone could say they find it in a sob or a scream or pouring rain. That it’s something that can be heard; remembered, associated, marked with the replay of a visceral track and cursed to play on forever.

But for you, it’s silent. Or maybe the sound of socked feet on tile as you turned and left Bucky’s room.

_Was it real? Was any of it?_

You asked yourself this question days earlier, but it echoed in your head as you waited for the doctor.

You knew the flu was going around. That had to be what this was. Your hope was silent, steadfast. You couldn’t handle the alternative.

The door opened without warning. Your doctor, Dr. Vanessa Montgomery, entered the room with your file.

Your heart was lodged in your throat.

The same way it had done when you’d realized you skipped a pill the night you last slept with Bucky.

The same way it had done when you realized you were five days late with your ever-prompt period.

The same way it had crouched over a stick in your bathroom once, then twice; both yielding the same result.

“Well, your blood test results confirm. Y/N, you’re pregnant.”

What do you do now?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You attempt to tell Bucky the truth, but things don’t go as planned. So, you come to a decision.  
> Fresh off a covert mission, Bucky searches for you around the Compound. He isn’t happy with what he discovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the first chapter, brief smuttish mentions. Hope you all like this part! Feedback is always appreciated!

It wasn’t something you meant to keep secret for long.  

You were always going to say something. It wasn’t like you had an alternative choice. Waiting a couple weeks, well, that just happened.

All it had taken was one misplaced snap at Natasha and your secret was out. And some snooping on her part, but that was to be expected.

You had always been a researcher. You looked into things first, made sure you had all the facts before jumping in head first. If only you’d employed some of that caution before you’d begun screwing your best friend, maybe you wouldn’t be trolling the websites for Mayo Clinic and the National Pediatric Association. You had almost asked FRIDAY to make a follow-up appointment with your OB/GYN, but decided against it, making the appointment yourself.  

But with all your careful planning, increased appetite reared its ugly head. Ordering your own Chinese food was yet another small victory.

You didn’t think you’d be gone long, really, so you just left your research out on your bed. All the things to expect in the end of your first month, everything you’d need to prepare for in your second. It was a blaring sign that screamed ‘newly pregnant woman having a minor panic attack.’

A sign that was definitely working when you returned with your bag of takeout, only to find Nat reading your papers.

Caught redhanded, the rest was to be expected.

_You’re pregnant?_

_How are you feeling?_

_Bucky is the father and he’s out screwing everything that moves?_

_I’m going to maim the dumbass old man._

You answered all her questions, quelled her rage, and took comfort in her newfound knowledge. It wasn’t a secret anymore. Or at least, your secret alone. Natasha was someone valuable to have in your corner; discreet, tough, and overtly protective.

Of course, she encouraged you to tell Bucky. That adamant quality she had in spades came in handy in that respect.

She even had you convinced you could do it. You tried, three times actually. Each time you either chickened or Bucky had to be… somewhere. His avoidance of you was more than hurtful, especially when you were apparently carrying his baby.

It was on your third try that you came to a decision.

You’d found him after his morning training session, waiting outside the door until he’d exited it.

“Bucky, I need to talk to you.”

It was quiet at first, but you adjusted your voice. You were going to be strong; it wasn’t just you anymore.

“I have a mission.”

“Bucky,” you implored, not that it changed anything.

“It’s long-term undercover and urgent, okay? I’m sorry, I am, but I have to go.”

His apology was rushed, or maybe empty, and he walked away from you in a hurry. It left you unsure if he really had a mission or had to get away from you.

It sent an unexpected wave of panic through you.

He was leaving and he didn’t know. Or he wasn’t leaving at all and didn’t want to know _you_. You weren’t sure which was worse.

You did know that soon your condition would be too obvious to hide and even if he was god-knows-where in the world, if Steve or Sam knew you were walking around the Compound with a suspiciously more round tummy and swollen ankles there wouldn’t be a place in the world Bucky could go that he wouldn’t find out somehow.

That strength you were determined to have became a distant, well-meaning memory. A memory promptly replaced with barefaced determination and a plan. It was possible that you should’ve been wary of your own plans by now, but you threw that caution specifically to the wind.

It wasn’t just you anymore.

_____

**Bucky**

_2 ½ Months Later_

Contrary to popular belief, Bucky Barnes didn’t hate Sam Wilson…per sé. They had a healthy rivalry, a relationship resembling that of two at-odds siblings. The modern soldier could be a real pain in the ass, but empathetic when warranted. Bucky didn’t hate him, but decided that any good quality to him was null-and-void the day he walked oh-so nonchalantly into the gym, answering when Bucky asked the question that had been on his mind since he’d returned the night before.

“Where’s Y/N? I haven’t seen her around.”

He’d been itching to ask.

When he came home, he had half a mind to knock on your door, hold you tight and never let go.

But it would undo all the progress he’d made in letting you go, distancing himself and his feelings from anything resembling hurting you anymore than he already had in doing so.

“Oh, Y/N moved out.”

Sam said it offhand as he stepped up to his favorite punching bag, as if it were just part of his regular routine.

Bucky wanted to punch him. Then Steve. And Tony. Anyone who knew that his girl - _she’s not your girl_ \- had moved out of the Compound.

He didn’t have much right to be possessive.

Not after he hadn’t spoken to you in almost four months. He had exhausted every option, explored every avenue, to make sure he distanced himself as far away from you as possible.

_I had to let her go. I had to._

Some days, he could still remember the night you told him what you did… and regrettably what came in the days after.

He’d been tense the first night, too riled up from watching you almost die.

It was too quick and almost out of his reach, the moment when the knife-yielding HYDRA agent almost stabbed you from behind as you frantically hacked into the warehouse’s database. He’d come out of nowhere, grabbing you harshly and raising his knife.

Bucky had seen red as he threw a knife through the guy’s skull. He’d never forget what you looked like standing there, shaking and bloodied. You’d gasped, then cried, and he reached out to you. He held you tight and he’d be damned if anyone had tried to make him let go.

His mistake was later.

He knew he loved you. It was always clear; in the indescribable weight of his feelings for you, his awareness of his inability to deny you anything.

Hell, he’d agreed to casual sex with you because of that one.

“I want to. I have for a while, but no one…I-I wouldn’t trust anyone else. No one but you.”

You were speaking so quickly that the words had come out in a rushed jumble, punctuated with nervous fingers pushing your messy hair behind you ears.

He’d found himself in a state of shock. He had remained still for what was likely too long in his place at the edge of his bed. He thought he’d stepped into some fever dream.

The girl of his dreams trusted him; trusted him enough to be a part of a step in your life that she had deemed significant.

You wanted him. Maybe not in the way he wanted you, per se, but maybe this was enough. Maybe he could be with you this way, even if it was no strings attached. He could do that, he could.

He even made some rules and made sure to take it slowly, even if slow didn’t last too long. You’d known what you wanted, and even through your hesitation, you’d always asked for it.

Which is why he’d been putty in your hands from the start, but especially the night he almost lost you.

He’d been afraid of hurting you at first, knowing you had various bruises and cuts, but remained reverent as he worked himself over you, reveling in the feeling of your legs at his hips and the tug of your fingers at his hair.

He’d always loved your responsiveness, the sounds you made; the whimpers, the moans, the way you said his name. They were sounds he could live in, relish in the practice of conjuring.

There was always a punctuating shiver that rolled through you when you were close; Bucky had felt it, knew what was, for lack of a better term, coming.

He’d welcomed it, encouraged you, wanted to hold you tight as you cried his name and pray that he could muster the bravery to tell you that you’d taken his heart.

Then, you beat him to the punch. In a strangled cry of pleasure, the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

It was an inadvertent admission, he knew that. But it shifted his world on it’s axis and shook him to the core.

He knew where his fear came from. Why he had to tell himself that he would tell you, even if he never could. You were safer when he wasn’t there. You were safer without him, you had to be.

He’d ruined so many things, so many lives, he couldn’t take ruining you too.

He hadn’t realized he’s pulled away from you until he was frantically dressing himself and rushing out of your room.

He’d spent the rest of that night on the roof, leaving on a voluntary mission the next morning. He’d traded with a skeptical Steve and left before you’d woken up.

He spent two weeks throwing himself into the work, only to return home to throw himself at another girl. He knew it was wrong, knew that despite that clarification that things were casual between the two of you, things were far from casual and had been for a while.

But he had to do something. You were too good, too precious to be lost too soon. He couldn’t have stomached you not being somewhere in world, happy and healthy, and knowing it was because he’d selfishly let himself be more to you than he should have been.

So, he overcorrected the rules, reset a boundary.

Didn’t seek you out when he returned. Didn’t call you when he was gone. Opened his bedroom door when he knew it was you on the other side and who was currently naked in his bed.

The look you’d given him would never leave the recesses of his mind, an indelible image on his psyche. A heart he’d broken for no good reason.

“FRIDAY, do you have a current address for Y/N?”

“No, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Most previous location?”

“That information is classified.”

He started asked around after training that morning. He knew someone had to know where you were, even if FRIDAY didn’t. Or had orders to keep quiet about it. _Who gave those orders? Was it you? Did you truly want nothing to do with him anymore?_

He entered Natasha’s room after he’d gone through every other option. It belatedly occurred to him that maybe he should’ve gone to the Black Widow first when he knocked on her door.

Because it didn’t take long for him to realize that she knew.

“Natalia, why can’t you tell me where she is?”

With a shrug, the redhead stood her ground. “She asked me not to.”

He expected something else from her, a grand tell-off for shitty behavior. It came, just not in the way he was expecting. A door slammed door in his face was nonetheless, very effective.

“She has her reasons, I’m guessing. You’re a voracious slut and a jackass,” Steve explained as he approached the same doorway, a sympathetic smile on his face.

“Noted.” Bucky rested his forehead on the wall beside Natasha’s door.  "It had to be this way.“

The latter wasn’t true, but he chose to believe it. Steve didn’t.

"Oh no it didn’t Barnes, you’re just a stubborn mule.”

Which led to an argument Bucky wasn’t going to win. No one seemed to understand why he did what he did, and he couldn’t seem to explain it well enough to change that.

“Goddammit, I had to let her go!” _Couldn’t he see?_ “Lovin’ someone like me? It’s like living on borrowed time.”

Steve scoffed, a stern look on his face. “I can’t believe you.”

“She deserves someone safe. Someone who can love her the way she should be loved! Not someone who wakes up screaming and went through seventy years as a ghost.”

“So you’re okay with her being with some other guy? Out there, falling in love with someone else?”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t want to think of that possibility, never really had to begin with. But his friend had laid it bare, asked him outright and all he could answer with what he knew was right.

“I want her to be happy…even if it’s not with me.”

The statement hung in the air, permeated the tense silence that had fallen between two long, long-time friends.

The only sound that broke the moment was that of something sliding out from beneath Natasha’s door. A small folded note, the outside scribbled on in red marker.

**Barnes; you didn’t get this from me.**

He opened the note and was met with an address.

—

The address was in Pennsylvania. _Far_ Pennsylvania. _Farm-country_ Pennsylvania.

Bucky didn’t altogether care, he was going to go anywhere he had to to find you. Part of him was adamant that he should just leave well enough alone, that he’d ruined it all and would have to deal with it.

Only then he was at the house, a sprawling one with a long, long driveway and a wrap-around porch, nothing but land to see on either side.

_No turning back._

He knocked on the door and waited. He rang the doorbell, waited again. _Were you there at all?_

Clint Barton opening the door seemed to give his answer. But Natasha wouldn’t have steered him wrong…

“Oh, shit,” Clint sighed, pinching the crease between his eyebrows.

“Barton.”

“This shit was not supposed to hit the fan _today._ ” He let his eyes shut, shaking his head. “No it was not.”

“Barton.” Bucky just wanted answers.

“I’m gonna put _Nair_ in Nat’s shampoo next time I see her,” Clint mused, more to him self than anything.

“Barton!” He hadn’t meant to snap. “Natasha said I could find Y/N here. Is she here?”

Bucky wasn’t sure if it was hesitation or blatant not wanting to be in the given situation that made Clint fall silent. The archer huffed, but didn’t need to answer the question.

“Clint!” You walked into the room with a grin, signing and speaking. “Did you want a grilled cheese or not?”

Bucky had almost forgotten what it meant to look at you. How his heart fluttered, then came to a halt altogether.

A vision in one of those cotton dresses he’d always loved on you, he was choked silent.

The simple understanding that this separation had been his doing came unwarranted. You may have left the Compound, but he’d left you. You were always kind and supportive and always had a good joke and he was an idiot for ever letting you go. He would do anything to change it.

It was why he was standing on the porch of the address he’d weaseled from Nat to begin with.

It was why he’d driven for hours, alone to wonder if you would ever even look at him after everything he’d done.

And it was why his heart almost shattered when he realized your once soft stomach was now rounded, brushing up against the front of your dress.

You were pregnant.

Living alone with Barton and, from what he could tell, fairly recently pregnant. He looked between the two of you, his mind running marathons.

_So you’re okay with her being with some other guy? Out there, falling in love with someone else?_

He wasn’t impulsive.

Never had been, that was Steve’s lot in life. But when all the pieces suddenly fit together, leaving him with a picture he’d cut himself out of, he couldn’t face it.

He fell into a red haze and didn’t even fight it. It wasn’t even the sort of haze that brought out the Soldier; this was just him. Angry and heartbroken and discontent in knowing that he’d likely lost you for good.

He charged at Clint, “You prick!”

He threw the punch before he could even consider that consequences, catching a glimpse of what it was like to be Steve Rogers, circa 1940.

Barton staggered back and you yelled: “Bucky, _no_!”

He tackled Barton and the situation descended into further chaos.

He should’ve told you the truth, should’ve said it back. If he hadn’t been so fucked up, he could’ve just told you the truth. None of this would have even happened.

Barton isn’t really fighting beneath him, so much as blocking. Bucky can’t understand it, but continues to punch the guy. It was childish, selfish, jealous. Any word ending with -ish and generally bad.

You’re trying to get him off of Barton, but maintaining a safe distance. When you realize it won’t work, you play a card Bucky hadn’t known you had.

“It’s your baby, you damn neanderthal!”

The rage, if he could call it that, disappeared like a puff of smoke.

“What?”

He let go of Barton, and the guy pushed himself back on his hands, not really looking surprised as he stood and left the room.

His eyes were on you when you subsequently rolled yours at him. It was an action he didn’t realize a person could miss.

“I may look like I’m pushing five months, but really I’m finishing three. Either way, do the math.”

“We weren’t exclusive. You c-could’ve…” _Stupid, Barnes. Straight-up stupid._

“You are the only one I’ve been with. Don’t insult me.”

“I wouldn’t. _Didn’t_!” He huffed in surrender. “I didn’t mean it like that. HYDRA…said I was sterile.”

“The strawberry-sized thing in my stomach begs to differ.” Your chuckle was dry. It didn’t really sound like you. “James, leave.”

“What?”

“We were supposed to be friends. I know I-I complicated things but our friendship was supposed to come before the casual sex!” You were visibly angry, frustrated. “I know that sounds a little ironic coming from the person who ruined everything when she told you she loved you during said casual sex, but just roll with it.”

“You did that?” Barton asked, returning just in time and with a bag of peas on his rapidly swelling eyes, only to earn a ‘shut-it’ look from you.

You continued, “I told the truth. Misguided, yes. But I did and you ran. Instead of trying to maintain our friendship, clarify the rules, or even spare my feelings, you went on another two week mission and then jumped into bed with some girl.”

He sighed, “I thought I was doing what was best.”

“Well, you doing what you thought was best left me alone to figure out the valuable little tidbit that I am currently growing super soldier spawn in my uterus.”

“You made my choice for me, like I’m a child. You negated my agency over myself, my life. You don’t get to do that! Ever. I have a say in what I want. What I need.”

“If you would have thought of that, I would have told you I needed you.”

“But that’s over now. You have no obligations, I swear it. I’ll raise this kid and you don’t ever have to see me again. Consider that protection.”

“No obligations?” He blurted out. “I’m the super soldier, that’s my spawn! I want to be here! I want to be the one to help you!”

He was ushered out the door by you, still so adorable, even when you’re completely pissed at him. Even more so with your small and a little round tummy.

“Come back when you aren’t going to punch my friend who so generously took in a crazy hormonal pregnant lady!”

The door slams, leaving Bucky reeling. Two doors slammed I’m his face in two days. He stepped of the Barton house’s porch in a daze, trying to familiarize himself with the facts.

You were having his kid. _Check._

He was going to be a father. _Check._

He’d broken your heart out of sheer stupidity and fear. Already knew that one but _Check_ anyway.

The walk back to his truck was a sobering experience. The cool breeze and the light beginning to fade kept as calm as he could be knowing what he did now. He’d truly left you alone. You were through three months of pregnancy and he hadn’t known.

He would never be able to reconcile that. It would mar his heart for the rest of his well-extended life.

He pulled out his phone, clicking on Steve’s contact; it went to voicemail. He sighed and said what he had to.

_“Steve, she’s pregnant. S-She’s having my kid and I– I’m an idiot. I thought it was Barton’s at first and I could’ve put him through a wall. You were right…and I’m an idiot who’s sleeping in his truck until she wants to talk to me.”_

Who knew when that would be after everything he’d done?

_“Call me when you get this.”_

Either way, he’d wait as long as he had to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You make a decision about Bucky and the presence he should have in your life due to your shared extenuating circumstances. An unexpected morning leads to changes at the farmhouse.

You had been staring at the ceiling so long you could’ve sworn you’d begun to see constellations on the white canvas above your head. 

You were restless, mind drifting. You wanted to fall asleep, you did, it wasn’t healthy to mess with your sleep cycle while pregnant. You were growing a person; you needed your rest for it to have a good chance of coming out a healthy one. 

You tried not to consider how you’d gotten here, in bed, mulling over heartbreak. Odd as it was, you used to wish for it; heartbreak. 

At least it was a feeling. 

Something you could only experience at the hands of someone else. It was a connection, however tenuous, and it meant something to you, back when you were just a lonely girl who’d only ever been kissed. 

It had been a time when the nights grew long and lonely and your mind began to drift to a solemn, consuming place, that you’d always come to a certain conclusion. You’d never find someone who noticed you. You’d end up alone forever, adopting kids if you were able to and dogs if not. You’d never know love or romantic connection. Back then, you were certain you would never know passion, lust, heartbreak…love.

Those were nights when you wished for it, any of it.

But now it was all you had. Love and heartbreak. You loved the man who stepped onto that porch two days earlier, the one who’s child was growing inside you. It was damning, it was wrong. You shouldn’t love him. How could you when he’d treated your heart so recklessly? So recklessly, in fact, that he hadn’t even realized it was his to hold. 

You wished that knowledge didn’t stick with you; didn’t pull you from bed in the middle of the night. 

Clint had prefaced his news the day before with a simple: I don’t think you’ll like what I’m about to tell you. 

You’d braced, winced at the sight of his blue-black eye. 

Nothing he said could have really surprised you, simply pushed you into something else you weren’t prepared for. No level of research could prepare you for your none-the-wiser baby daddy punching the guy he thought  _ was  _ your baby daddy. 

“Got a call from my guy over at the Sheriff’s station. Apparently some dude has been living in his pickup at the end of our road for the past couple of days and he’s about to get towed.”

That had been a day earlier and you’d snuck to the window countless times since, peeking out the window every so often to see of you could spot the offensive truck. 

You could. A spot on the horizon that came and went every so often (you assumed for food) and parked most often beside the mailbox. 

Needless to say, you weren’t the one to go to get the mail.

It kept you awake at night. To the point where you’d paced the rug in Clint’s hallway threadbare, and ate almost all the food in the fridge. 

The aforementioned man not too happy about his wandering house guest was easily calmed by a FaceTime call earlier that night with Natasha, your generous benefactor and his girlfriend. It was a call that ended up being enlightening for you. 

You’d been intently listening to Nat, who cohesively defended her choice in giving Bucky the address to her farmhouse.

“Half-yours, according to my boy Clint here,” You pointed out, gesturing to Clint with a flourish. 

His gasp had been soap-opera worthy, complete with a hand thrown across his forehead, “Baby, I would never! You own this house and my ass!”

Nat rolled her eyes, a reluctant smirk evident in her pretty features,  _ “I don’t know why I ever thought putting you two in a house together could ever result in a serious conversation.” _

“We can be very serious now that we’re facing a very serious issue!” Clint pointed out, leaning back against the couch you found yourself frequenting when the last thing you seemed to be able to do was sleep. 

_ “Bucky’s arrival and subsequent sucker punch?”  _

You shut your eyes at Nat’s words, bracing under the shameful weight of. 

Why he’d come here and what he had unfairly found out. 

“No,” Clint deadpanned. “House-wide starvation at the hands of Pint-sized Preggo over here.”

“Rude.” Your pout deepened. 

_ “Barton, Precious Preggo!” _ Nat had playfully snapped. _ “Focus!” _

Your collective focus came reluctantly, but when it did, you couldn’t have known what she was going to tell you.

_ “I can’t say much. It’s not something I can be the one to tell you, Y/N.” _

“Why?” You asked, even though the answer was clear. 

_ “He was distraught when he found out you left. He knew he hurt you, he just didn’t know he’d successfully pushed you out of his life.”  _

You shrugged, “It wasn’t about him.”

“Come on,” Clint scoffed.

"What?” 

“You have taken every child psychology class there is. I’ve seen you on all those clinic websites. I have seen you hide the books. Jeez, the way you listen to Dr. Montgomery…you’re reading up on everything that can possibly happen to this kid. You already know what is good for them and bad for them to some degree. It is about him because shutting him out completely goes against everything you believe in when it comes to parenting.” 

You wished that he hadn’t seen all your research; the Romanoff-Barton coupling was far too observant once they knew a secret like that. 

You had spent years in school, years that involved a number of classes that you loved to take. Psychology being high up on that list. These classes had taught you many things, including what it meant to be a parent. 

Because a romantic relationship could crumble easily, but a parenting bond lasted forever. Not for you, not for him…but for your child. 

“You want to get this right, I know you do,” Clint said. 

“So?”

“You know it’s not just about you and Bucky anymore. You have for awhile and that’s good.”

“What’s your point, Clint?”

“Set rules. Do your obsessive planning thing. But give Bucky a chance to be a part of those plans. Because it’s not just the two of you anymore and he deserves his part of the equation. You don’t have to be all lovey dovey with the guy. Just… co-parent.”

Natasha chimed in,  _ “He took leave to go find you. Permanent leave, which is as good as quitting here. Fury is well, furious.” _

You stared at him, then the computer screen.  _ Why did you have to end up tag-teamed by the most cohesive couple in history? _

You wished it didn’t matter to you. That you could see that truck and feel nothing, that you could know how much he was giving up and have it not matter, but it was impossible. 

The truck’s apparent occupant held a piece of your heart and was half responsible for the pre-human taking up residence in your body. 

You loved your baby. 

You already loved your baby. So much so that you knew no piece of history could hold a candle to it’s existence. No fling, no love affair, no heartbreak. 

Motherhood had always been a word in your vocabulary, an inevitability. You loved kids and always wanted them, making plans when you were young to adopt when were certain no one would ever love you enough to want them with you. 

You always thought romantic love would matter in motherhood and it was your mistake. Well, maybe an oversight. 

You were a young and unmarried woman, pregnant with a baby from the man who was your best friend. Despite that latter fact, you had no true commitment to him, apart from the baby. 

Your non-committal sexual relationship, your fractured friendship, the heart that seemed to ache every time you considered what would have happened if you’d never told him the truth?

None of it mattered anymore.

None of it was what truly stuck in your mind when you saw that truck.

Because your heart may still beat for Bucky, despite every fact, but did not beat for him alone. 

It beat for your baby too, and if your baby’s father was willing, you were going to give him a chance to be a part of this experience…no matter how wary you were of this conclusion. 

____

Later that night, clad in a too-big sweatshirt and pajama pants, feet pushed into your bunny slippers, you made the walk down the long drive to the edge of the property. Towards that damn truck. 

Fueled by your restlessness and on-the-mend heart, you slowly approached the truck belong to the man who broke it. 

He was asleep in the cab of the truck, leaned across the front seat, head resting on a sweater. He looked uncomfortable. The fact that he was enduring it only made one thing clear. 

You sigh, resting a hand on your belly before whispering to your stomach, “Your Daddy is a stubborn mule.” 

It wasn't the first time you had taken to talking to your little somatic house guest, and it surely wouldn't be the last.

Said stubborn mule was in a deep sleep, but you couldn’t allow yourself to let that fact deter you. You knocked on the passenger side window twice. Bucky shot up inside the cab, messy-haired and dreary-eyed. 

He blinked, rubbed his eyes…pretty much made certain that what he was seeing was actually real. You open the door and step into the truck, sitting down on the passenger side.

“Did you walk all the way out here?” He asked, sleep still in his voice. 

“We do what we want, okay? Besides, this little cutie in my tummy is apparently very, very stubborn.”

“I can only imagine,” he chuckled sleepily. “Probably just like their Mama.”

“Funny, I said the same thing about you.” 

Silence falls between you. 

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I tried,” you replied softly.

“When?” 

“Three times altogether,” you admitted honestly. “Before you left on your last mission, for one.”

He was visibly crushed. He was exhausted. You could see it in his face, in the way he held himself. 

You wanted to comfort him, to chide him for not leaving. You had told him to, hadn’t you? Maybe if he had you wouldn’t feel the need to be in the truck at all. Maybe you’d be back in the farmhouse, reading over more articles online and trying to forget the man who knocked you up. 

_ It’s not just you anymore.  _

“I was wrong. I should have tried harder to tell you. I should have let you know what was going on despite what happened between us.” He was silent at the admission. “This is not an apology. I don’t have to apologize, but I thought you should know.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but for fear of it, you continued. 

“Bucky, we need to make this work. And to do so, we need ground rules.”

He looked hurt. You wished it didn’t matter to you. That his blue eyes didn’t pierce your heart, weigh heavy on your soul.

“This isn’t about us. It can’t be,” You stated when it felt like you’d crack. “We can’t screw up this kid by making this about us.”

He surged closer to you, eager and hopeful, “No, I know. Doll, I would never–”

You cut him off with a raised hand pressing against his chest. 

“No, understand this. No nicknames. No kisses, no sex. No relationship between us other than co-parents.”

Your heart was in crisis, screaming at your head,  _ this is crazy _ . You loved him,  _ god _ , you loved him. It hadn’t gone away, not truly. You’d pushed it down and tried to deny it, but it was still beneath the surface and no set of rules could ever dampen the flame. But you had to do it. You had to. 

“We are going to do this for the baby. It’s not about us anymore and looking back on what happened between us isn’t going to benefit our child.” You steadied yourself with a shaking breath in, “Understand?”

“Yes, Doll I–” He shut his eyes, a silent correction. “Y/N. Yes, Y/N. I understand.”

The silence isn’t awkward a second time. It falls seamlessly as you take a deep breath, hand subconsciously brushing your stomach. 

“Come on.”  You reached over and turned the keys in the ignition. The truck roaring to life. 

“Where are we going?” Bucky straightened in the driver’s seat, eyes intent on you.  _ Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.  _

“You’re driving me back to the house. You’re going to come inside, sleep on the couch, and apologize to Clint in the morning and thank him for not letting the county sheriff tow your ass after you gave him a black eye. But first, you are going to shower.” You finish confidently, crossing your arms over your recently enlarged chest. “Because you smell.”

Bucky nodded. If he was trying to hide his amusement, he wasn’t doing it very well. 

“You’re also coming to my doctor’s appointment on Tuesday.”

His smile was soft. Enduring. It spread across his face gently and you had to force yourself to look away before you gave in altogether. 

“Yes, ma'am.”

This wasn’t going to be easy.  

___

Bucky woke up the next morning on something softer than his pickup’s front seat. He recalled the events of the night before, how he’d never been happier to be ordered around by you. He’d have to thank Barton for picking this particular couch too, because he was sure he’d never slept on anything softer. 

Except, well, maybe you. 

He tried not to think about the mornings when he would wake up beside you, often finding himself half sprawled over you and waking to the sound of your sleepy giggle and followed with a ’ _ get offa’ me, ya big lug.’ _

His already heavy heart was betraying him. He sat up and tried to push it away. 

He had a to-do list, after all. 

He’d showered the night before, putting on a change of clothes he’d kept in his go-bag which he’d been extremely thankful he’d thrown in the truck when he left the Compound. That item had been an easy one to check off. 

Sleeping on the couch? An item he gladly checked off. 

The only thing left on the list was to apologize to Barton.

Bucky walked into the kitchen at the sound of a gurgling coffee maker, half sure it couldn’t have been you. You’d always been one to sleep in, it was why you often scheduled your grad school classes later or took them online. You loved your sleep, it was true. 

Barton was pouring coffee into a mug, back turned to where Bucky entered the room. Bucky knew Clint was partially deaf, so he assumed he would be surprised to his quiet entering of the room. You know what they say about assuming. 

“Knew we had a new houseguest.” Barton turned, holding up his own coffee mug, “Want coffee?”

Bucky chuckled as he read said mug. 

**Will I ever stop being a sarcastic asshole? Find out on next week’s episode of ‘I Think The Fuck Not.’**

“Sure, thanks.”

Bucky watched as Barton grabbed another mug, poured him some of the coffee left in the pot. He didn’t know the best way to say what he had to. 

He had been sorry. 

Two days stuck in a truck unsure of what he was waiting for if you didn’t want him around because of his tendency to go off half-cocked gave him plenty of time to consider it. 

Barton had done a good thing and he knew it. You were hurt, heartbroken and that had been Bucky’s fault, no one else’s. You didn’t feel like you could stay in the same place you’d had been and Barton had taken in 'the crazy hormonal pregnant lady.' 

Bucky would always be grateful for it…when he wasn’t regretting making you feel the need to flee altogether. 

“I know she probably told you to apologize to me. You don’t have to.”

_ Okay, Clint’s a mind reader now.  _ “I-I want to. I’m sorry for punching you.”

Barton sat across from Bucky at the kitchen counter, shrugging as h sipped his coffee. 

“I get it. If I thought I lost Nat to some other guy the way you thought you did… rational thought would’ve been out the window.” 

Bucky was grateful for Clint Barton for way,  _ way _ too many things. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m okay with what you did to her.”

And he respected him for the little shit he was. 

Bucky heard you before he saw you. 

Disheveled and messy haired, you padded into the kitchen in your too-big sweatshirt and PJ pants, fuzzy socks muting your footsteps. 

You tried to be stealthy, sneaking a mug and a short walk to the coffee maker, but Clint stopped you in your tracks. “You know you can’t have that.” 

“Buzzkill.”

“Your hot OB will thank me.” Clint said through a mouthful of muffin. He raised an eager eyebrow. “When’s your next appointment?”

“You know damn well it’s Tuesday.” You huff. “What would Nat have to say about that, anyway?”

“Oh, I sent her a picture after your last appointment. She agrees.”

Bucky watched the reaction in silence, chewing on a piece of his muffin. 

He was always fond of you. Your humor, smart mouth.  From the moment you became friends, he’d always loved just listening to you talk. The warmth in your voice, the soft smile that often remained after a particularly good joke.  He liked looking at you, too. You always had this peculiar beauty about you, this inherent adorable air to everything you did. The sight of you brought a smile to his face that he had to stamp down because friends don’t look at friends like they turn their world. 

Hell, you weren’t even friends anymore. 

If his fondness had flagged some deeper feeling within him, the giddiness that came with a simple glance your way earlier, none of this would have happened. Suffice it say, it had ruined almost everything. 

Except for you…and his baby. 

Because you were strong. Still were and always would be. With or without him. You could live your life without him, he knew that before now.

It wasn't entirely true now.

_ Co-parents. _ A role that left Bucky in his future child’s life, but on the outskirts of yours. He was already wary of this arrangement. He couldn’t say that, however. 

So he went with: “Morning, Y/N.”

You looked up at him and smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. 

_ Would he ever get to see your sweet smile again? _

He didn’t have time to mull it over as you sat down, visibly wincing. 

Clint noticed it too. “Y/N? You okay?” 

Bucky didn’t realize he had stood from his seat until he was beside you, kneeling to meet your keeled over form. 

“Yes,” you said softly, eyes closed. Your hands found your belly as you wiggled a little in your chair. “N-no. I, uh, I don’t know.”

You were shaking. Bucky didn’t like it, not at all. “Doll, you gotta calm down. What do you feel?”

“Like my stomach is…I don’t know! Light? Sinking? Fluttering! I don’t know, it’s just–” Your eyes met his, breath coming quickly. “What if it’s a late miscarriage or a disease?”

Bucky couldn’t answer that question. He looked to Clint, who looked as lost as he did, kneeling on your other side. 

He sighed, taking charge. 

“Okay, where’s your research?” He asked you, taking your hand in his. 

“What?” You asked, breath evening slightly. Bucky couldn’t tell if you were calming or just shocked.  _ Had he said something shocking?  _

“Your books, articles, list of web links in alphabetical order?” He asked, tilting his head a little to the side in his confusion. 

“There’s no way you can know about those too!” You groaned, leaning back in your chair. 

Bucky’s confusion only deepened, “What?” 

“How did you know about those?” Clint asked, half-chuckling. “Did Nat tell you?”

“Nat only gave me an address.” Bucky answered before turning back to you. “I-I guess I just assumed. You always did research on just about everything. Figured you’d have some about this.”

Your eyes never left his, something resembling fondness behind them.

You let out a long exhale; relief evident in it, “I know what this is.”

“What?” Bucky and Clint asked at the same time. 

“Grab my computer, Bucky.” You smiled softly, tears welling up in your eyes.  "Search ’ _ quickening _ ’.“

Bucky rushed to the counter and your laptop, opening it and typing the word into Google. Clint came up beside him and both of their eyes wandered from link to link. 

**_First fetal movement._ **

**_It can often feel like a flutter or a lightness in the stomach._ **

**_The moment a mother can begin to feel her baby move._ **

Bucky was sure his heart would burst. He grinned, looking up at you. He could only chuckle fondly when he saw your watery grin, a hand pressed against your stomach. 

You walked over to him, reached out for his hand, but he retracted when it happened to be his left. He offered up his right in turn. 

You smiled softly, placing it on your now rounder stomach. 

"You probably won’t be able to feel it yet, but it’s happening…there.”

He grinned, content to hold his hand to your soft skin, basking in the knowledge that his kid was moving. That you were the one he was getting to share this with, no matter what got you two to this point. 

Your voice was a whisper then, and not one directed to him. 

“I knew you could hear me already.”

____

Clint Barton was always an observant man. 

A true champion of the human condition. 

Okay, okay…he was a total softie. And the sight of his friend and her baby daddy bonding after being estranged for almost five months? That shit made his heart melt. 

Nat was the hard ass; he was the romantic. Cynical romantic, yes, but a romantic nonetheless. 

Which is why he stepped from the kitchen in silence, leaving you and Bucky and Baby Barnes to your little moment. 

He pulled out his phone, dialing his better half. 

_ “Nat? I have an idea, but I’m gonna need your help.” _

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my favorite pieces to date. It's currently a WIP, but I'm working hard to finish it. Hope you like it. Feedback is always appreciated!


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